La Famiglia (46 page)

Lorenzo studied his opponent. Varo had black vacant eyes on an unshaven face with bushy brows. A dirty man who probably slept with the light on. Lorenzo decided to speak to Varo in Italian.

“Mi chiamo Lorenzo Battaglia,”
Lorenzo introduced himself. Varo put his gun on his table.

“Battaglia? You’re a Battaglia?” Varo asked.

The tension in his voice changed the atmosphere in the room. A grumbling spread between the men gathered. Apparently each man standing knew of the Battaglias.

“I am. My cousin is
Don
Giovanni Battaglia,” Lorenzo admitted.

“I’ve heard of him. Not you,” Varo answered. “Why are you here? And why lie to my men and say you are a friend of Mottola?”

“Because you’re the man to see. I want the deal Mottola has. No. I want a better one,” Lorenzo said. He nodded to the chair. “May I?”

“Please,” Varo said with an amused chuckle.

The men both rose from the table. One faced Carlo with his finger on the trigger of an assault rifle and the other kept his attention focused on Lorenzo.

Lorenzo took a seat. Unaffected by the deadly intent of the others he focused on Varo. “I know that Mottola is helping you arm your men. I know the guns are from my family. And I also know when Giovanni learns of this you will lose this war. He has a much further reach within the
Camorra
,
Mafioso
, and
`Ndrangheta
than Mottola.”

Varo reclined. He blinked. The moment he did everything Lorenzo suspected of the coward was proven true. The man was no Yeremian. He was a scavenger. If he didn’t hide so well this meeting would have never been necessary. Lorenzo would feel no remorse when he took his head.

“You have my attention, Battaglia,” Varo said. “Continue.”

“My cousin has kept me in his shadow for many years. He has now stripped me of everything, except one thing, the most important thing. My birthright. I can get you the guns, and the means to win this war with Yeremian. I can get you at the table with the men who will finance your pursuit to liberate your people. It is what you want, what all of this is about. No?”

“The Russians and Turks stripped us of our identity, our pride. Now we are stronger but men like Yeremian see nothing but greed. Yes I fight for liberation. And it is an honor to meet you Lorenzo Battaglia if you can help me obtain it.”

Varo extended his hand. Lorenzo smiled. He reached across the table and shook it.

“Let’s talk business. But not here.” Varo cleared his throat. Lorenzo frowned. He glanced over his shoulder to Carlo who stood stone faced.

“Please come with me.”

“My companion. He goes where I go.” Lorenzo said.

Varo shrugged. “Of course.”

Lorenzo and Carlo were led out.

* B
*

Marietta felt better after the shower. Her hair was wet, slick, she combed it back over her head into a wavy curl pattern from her face. A bit freer from despair she left her room. The dark hall greeted her. At night men under the Battaglia’s payroll patrolled the halls, the land, and the beaches. How many she wasn’t sure. And in the dark she could feel the sense of being watched. Several times she stopped to glance back over her shoulder and found no one behind her. Lorenzo once joked that the eyes of Giovanni were always on her when she was in his home. Therefore, she remained alert.

Her thoughts drifted to her sister and her dead mother. She wanted to know more about her mother. She wanted to know everything. Marietta arrived at the end of the hall. She turned the corner and immediately doubled back.

Mirabella was in the kitchen.

Her twin stood in the open door of the refrigerator stuffing her mouth. Marietta watched her from the darkness. When Mirabella turned sideways her large belly protrusion was seen clearly through her long white nightgown because of the interior light in the fridge. And she chomped, chewed, and stuffed her fat cheeks with food. It was so comical.

Marietta watched her eat, swallow and then grab at more food and eat. Before Marietta realized it she was smiling. From the moment she met Mirabella the fashion designer had been nothing but smiles and pleasantries. At first Marietta thought it was phoniness. But it wasn’t. Mirabella was her other half, her better half. The one who grew up loved by their maternal grandparents. The one who didn’t have the scars to jade her view of the world. Who would Marietta have become if she grew up on a farm and had love as a kid? Maybe she’d be confident, rich and famous like Mirabella. Maybe her sacrifice of blood and tears as a kid was so Mirabella could be the best of them. As she watched Mirabella she suffered a gamut of emotions most akin to love. A connection and bond she wanted to explore. 

Marietta opened her mouth to say Mira’s name when the
Don
appeared.

“Bella! What the hell are you doing down here?” Giovanni barked at her.

Mirabella whirled around with her eyes stretched. She swallowed. “I-I-I got hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you wake me?” he shouted at her. “I woke up and found you gone. You came down the stairs all by yourself!” he continued to yell. Marietta narrowed her eyes on the
Don
and clenched her fist.
How dare he speak to Mirabella that way? And why on earth would she stand there and take it?
Instead of her sister putting his ass in his place she grinned.

Mirabella set the bowl of pasta down on the counter. She stepped to her husband and touched his face, forced him to kiss her. She spoke to him softly and her husband turned his face away. Mirabella took his face in both hands and made him look at her. She spoke again to him in such a low tone Marietta could not hear her. But she could see the affect her words had on the evil bastard. Giovanni actually smiled. Marietta had never seen the man smile since she met him.

“You will be the death of me!” he laughed.

Mirabella hugged him. The
Don
kissed the top of her head. He held her in his arms and rubbed her back. And then the couple began to kiss. It turned Marietta’s stomach. She drew away. She returned to her room determined as ever to get justice. She would tell her sister the truth about the bastard she had married. As soon as possible.

* B
*

Cowardice lived in every man. Some fear love, others rejection, many fear failure. Varo was a man who feared everything and trusted no one. Everywhere Lorenzo and Carlo went men with guns accompanied them. The bastard had to stop to pee and three men went with him to watch his back. Lorenzo shot Carlo a look and he shook his head in disgust.

As Lorenzo considered his options lady luck took pity on his ass. They were brought to a remote location. Both he and Carlo piled into a jeep with Varo and he drove off with them alone. Lorenzo glanced back at Carlo. He too wore a surprised look. Could Varo the cowardly bunny actually have grown some balls?

“I can not let my men see me negotiate with you. It is a matter of respect and strength. We will need privacy to discuss my terms.” Varo glanced over to Lorenzo. “But please understand me. My men are everywhere. You have seen them. No? You will not leave the countryside alive if anything happens to me.”

“We’re not here to make an enemy. Your interests are mine. I am curious though, how does Mottola service you? We have tight control over the Neapolitan clans. Nothing exports from the bay of Naples without my cousin’s knowledge.”

Varo chuckled. “Well those times have changed. Haven’t they? Giovanni Battaglia allows the
`Ndrangheta
to move in and out of the bay. Mottola works through them and a cruise ship company. The problem is my shipments are small and all of them must come through the Turks.”

“Ah that can be problematic.” Lorenzo conceded.

“It’s timely,” Varo said, shifting gears and picking up speed as the jeep raced onward.

“What does Mottola gain from this?”

“Pledged assistance with his desires to take control of the clans in the
Camorra
,” Varo smirked.  “The Russians are looking for revenge against Giovanni. Many of his Russian enemies are my comrades in this war with Yeremian.”

“But I thought you were liberating your people from tyranny of Soviet influence? Now you’re partners with them?” Lorenzo asked.

Varo laughed. “Yes, I am. During occupation many Armenians were dragged off to Russian prison camps. The men I call brother hate the Soviets, just as I do. They don’t know I deal with them. Your arrival reaffirms their belief we only deal with the
Camorra
.”

And thus Lorenzo finally understood the depths of Varo’s cowardice. Mottola was a shield. He remained strong and fearless if his men believed that he armed them without selling his soul to the Turks, or Russians. All of it was bullshit. Lorenzo kept his face blank. Inside he fumed. He knew this pursuit of Dominic’s and Giovanni’s to legitimize the family made them weak. And now he had proof. But the war with the Russians was Lorenzo’s fault. He misled Giovanni into believing that the Russians killed Tomosino. This disaster truthfully should be laid at his feet. “What about Santo? Does he assist you?”

“Santo? Never heard of him. Mottola is very secretive. He trusts no one in the
Camorra
. It’s wise for him. No?”

Lorenzo found it hard to believe that Santo was totally blameless. He knew somewhere in this the bastard had to be dirty. But that was a mystery to solve for another day. He settled in his seat and let Varo fill him in on his operation. The night was blinding. He had no idea how Varo travelled through the blackness with the aid of his headlights only. Soon they arrived in front of a stone cottage that looked abandoned. Varo parked.

“Here is what I want you to see.” Varo hopped out of the jeep, taking his assault rifle with him. “Come.”

Lorenzo and Carlo followed him inside. And what they found stopped them both cold. Varo lit lanterns and revealed more. “All of this came to you through Mottola and the
`Ndrangheta
?”

“Not all, a lot. Some of it we stole. None of it can give me victory. I want a decisive strike. I need something to bring Yeremian to his knees. And this is what Mottola struggles to find for me.” Varo set the lantern down. He cleared off a crate and removed a paper from his back pocket. He spread it out flat to show Lorenzo what he desired. As Lorenzo stepped to his side he glanced to Carlo who understood it was time for them to act.

“See here,” Varo began. “The missile launchers, the kind with a scope. It is what the Americans give to Afghanis. I need to be able to do long distance strikes.” Varo said, his voice alive with excitement.

Carlo eased out a short rubber tube from his deep pocket. The only weapon they brought. Lorenzo moved closer.

“We have these.” Lorenzo’s finger pointed at the image. “We send them down the coast to Africa. I can get my hands on them easily. For a price.”

“Name it!” Varo said.

“Your life,” Lorenzo smiled.

Varo frowned. Carlo attacked. He wrapped the black tube around Varo’s neck with each end tightly gripped in his hands. He clenched his fist and crossed his wrist to apply bone-crushing pressure. Varo dropped to his knees. Lorenzo stared down at Varo and watched his eyes and tongue protrude. The scoundrel clawed at his neck, desperate for a breath. Carlo denied him the privilege.

Most believe it is quick and clean to administer death by strangling a person. Not true. It took close to ten minutes for the grimy bastard to die.

Once done Carlo released Varo and he dropped over, face first, dead. Carlo heaved down deep breaths, his eyes wild with excitement, his face covered in sweat. He stuck the band back into his pocket and spit on Varo’s lifeless body. “I thought he’d never shut the fuck up.”

“Do you see all of this?” Lorenzo looked around. “Now we’re in the business of arming a civil war!”

“We trade guns. What the fuck do you think these people do with them?” Carlo tossed back. “We’ve always armed slugs like this. It’s none of our business.”

“That’s not what I mean. I can give a shit what is done with the guns I give a shit that we are connected this way. Mottola has drug us into the middle of this shit with the Russians. Everything is at risk. What if the Soviet or Armenian police forces trace these guns to us? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Carlo pulled back his sleeve. “We got ten maybe fifteen minutes before his clan breaks down that door. So what do we do now?”

“His head.” Lorenzo kicked the box of guns next to him. He knocked over a few other boxes and read the writing scribbled on top. “We can’t carry him out of here. We need to bring Alik evidence. Find something to take off his head.”

“Fuck you,” Carlo said. “I killed him you take his head.”

“Find me something!” Lorenzo shouted. The quick search revealed a case of knives and saws. Why Varo needed them Lorenzo didn’t care. “Get us a few guns, and wait outside. I’ll be out soon.”

Carlo walked out. Lorenzo had never dismembered a body. They usually tied weights to their ankles and dropped them in the sea. He was surprised at how easily Varo’s head was dispatched from his shoulders. He shoved the bloody prize in a burlap bag. The disgusting smell of blood and excrement singed his noise and burned his throat. He staggered out of the front door of the cottage hacking for air with bloody hands.